]]>It’s a meditative job, driving the sweep boat. Without any passengers vying for your attention, curious questions unasked, unanswered. With a departure time way before the breakfast dishes have been dunked into the fourth bucket, before the last call for the Groover, before the sun has breached the protective walls of the canyon, the sweep boat floats away from camp. The current, the breeze, and the technical maneuvers needed to pass through narrow canyons and Class IV rapids are the only things to ponder.

It’s a quiet routine. One I would envy had I not been a guest—a silent passenger aboard the sweep. Even in all his goofiness and outgoing personality, I could tell Ned Perry cherished these secluded moments on his sweep. I tried to keep my questions to a minimum and just appreciate the moment, this moment: the only two people on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River. Or so it felt.

Nestled in the 2.3-million-acre Frank Church Wilderness Area—the “Church” as many locals refer to it—the Salmon River is one of the longest free-flowing rivers in the Lower 48. Flowing from its headwaters in the Sawtooth Mountain range (over 9,200 feet), the Salmon dramatically drops in elevation until its confluence with the Snake River north of Hells Canyon, more than 7,000 feet lower in elevation. It’s the constant gradient of the Middle Fork of the Salmon that allows the use of sweep boats to carry gear to camp ahead of the rest of the party.

Sweep boats are massive inflatable crafts, ranging from 22- to 26-feet long with tubes reaching 30 inches in diameter. Unlike other oar-rigged boats, the sweep’s oars—called sweeps—are positioned at the bow and stern. Because of the sweeps’ positions, they don’t propel the boat through the water, but instead only turn the boat from side-to-side, changing its angle to skirt obstacles, depending on the river’s flow to move it downstream.

The sweep boat isn’t a modern invention. In the 1870s and 80s flat-bottomed, wooden boats, called scows, were built to transfer mining equipment and lumber downriver. It began with a 39-mile trip from Salmon, Idaho, to the mines in Shoup, Idaho. Once the scow reached Shoup, the entire boat was dismantled and sold as lumber.

Returning the scow to Salmon to be re-used was impossible. This is where the Salmon River’s moniker, “The River of No Return,” originated.

I’m not from Idaho. Having relocated five years ago from a small town in North Carolina, I was fascinated by the history of the massive boat I was riding on. Accustomed to the local lore of my childhood, which included the infamous pirate, Black Beard, and the numerous calamities early settlers faced in the New World, when I had heard the term River of No Return, my mind had turned to the macabre.

“A trip down the River of No Return was a one-way ticket,” said Ned. At least for the scow.

Captain H. Guleke is one of the most famous scow drivers from the 19th and 20th centuries. His first trip in 1896 is believed to be the first documented passage between Salmon—known then as Salmon City—and Riggins in a scow, a trip totaling more than 150 miles. Before Guleke, the route had been deemed impossible. For the next 37 years, Guleke continued to navigate the Salmon by scow, floating his original route at first, but eventually pushing on to Lewiston (a total of 305 miles), dismantling the scow there, and using the lumber profits to buy a horse (and eventually hop a train) and return to Salmon to do it again. At this point in history, settlers began staking claims along the river and the earliest mining towns and homesteads were established from recycled scows.

Sweep boat drivers on the Middle Fork today are far from famous. But I think it’s safe to say Ned is a hometown favorite. Ned and other sweep drivers have it easy compared to the scow drivers of the 1800s. But it doesn’t come without risk, and taking those risks every single day of a multi-day trip doesn’t come without serious consequences. From losing a camp’s worth of gear (potentially ruining a few family vacations) to losing your life, the consequences can be brutal.

Ned has been driving sweep for eight years. In the few moments I pried into the history of the boats, I also pried into Ned’s on-the-water history. He spent two years training before he unexpectedly became the go-to sweep boat driver for O.A.R.S. one season when another boatman suffered an injury. A third driver slowed down to the occasional trip. So, for the past six years, Ned has found himself day-in-and-day-out, trip after trip, spending his days in the quiet atmosphere of the sweep.

“Tuck your feet in, hold on and be prepared to hit the rock wall on river left,” Ned said as we neared Pistol Creek, a rapid confined by a narrow canyon. All guides prepare in advance for a rapid, successfully styling one (seemingly) without effort, while their mind is on the next rapid far beyond the average guest’s gaze. Ned takes that planning and preparation one step further. Moving a sweep boat by a slight angle takes time. With his feet firmly planted, we entered Pistol Creek. I was too focused on not falling out of the boat, not smashing a body part against rock and attempting to take pictures to watch Ned, but I imagined his face growing more red, his eyes focusing on the line to take—not the obstacles to miss—and using his entire body to move the poles attached to the sweep.

I heard a thwack. Something hit rock, hard. In the end, Ned did his job too well. He overcompensated the angle to miss the wall, but came too close to a boulder, smashing his front sweep. Like a compound fracture, the sweep hung at an odd angle. We stopped at Indian Creek Ranger Station to assess the damage and salvage discarded wood for the sweep’s repair. Ned decided we could make it to camp with the broken sweep where he could take the time patch it.

I guarantee the first scows underwent some inventive repairs. When you’re riding alone you have to possess a hint of innovation to overcome unexpected setbacks. But sweep boat drivers aren’t totally alone. Sure they pass the private and commercial trips lounging on beaches, sipping morning camp-coffee and leisurely rigging for the day ahead. And normally they don’t have passengers perching on Paco pads to share their space with. But the sweep boaters of the Middle Fork have created their own community, complete with a postal service. Most sweep drivers have secret hiding spots, or “mailboxes,” littered along the river’s banks. From thoughtful gifts to blank paper and pen, little treasures are stashed in these mailboxes for fellow sweep boat drivers to enjoy or leave a note behind for a friend on the river to read in the coming weeks.

I was impressed by the camaraderie between the sweeps, despite the logos plastered to the rubber and PVC. When I pushed us off from Sheepeater early that morning, my stomach was full of strong coffee, buttery croissants and an omelet. I was fully aware that lunch wouldn’t be the catered fare I had already grown accustomed to. Sweep drivers usually eat dinner leftovers, but having had grilled salmon the night before, leftover fish wasn’t an appetizing second-meal. I expected nothing more than a repeat of Ned’s lunch yesterday: hummus and chips.

After we reached Marble Creek Left, set up the chair circle, built individual pyramids of sleep-kits, tents, and dry bags, and repaired the sweep, two sweep boats from another company eddied out and tied off.

We climbed aboard to swap trip recaps over cold beers. My stomach growled, running on breakfast fumes. “You guys want some bucket food?” one of the crew asked. Ned smiled. Bucket food didn’t sound appetizing; I stayed silent and watched. The girl who’d asked hopped over to the other sweep and returned with a Dutch oven filled with rice, beans, sausage and veggies—bucket food: breakfast leftovers. They passed around corn tortillas and we feasted on a Mexican lunch.

They didn’t expect anything in return. They knew Ned would repay them, or another sweep boat down the river. Maybe not this trip, but in the end it all comes full circle. As they returned to the current to continue on to whichever camp they would call home for the night, we waved and headed into our own camp to relax and unwind before the guests arrived and the evening regimen began again.

I only rode on the sweep that one day. For the rest of the trip I chose to relax on an oar-rigged raft, with the occasional jaunt on a paddleboat.

Without having to paddle, I had the time to take in my surroundings and quiz the other guides on their Middle Fork history. Captain Guleke made a cameo in everyone’s historical accounts.

On the last day of the trip the Middle Fork merges with the Main Salmon. For four miles you float the Main until taking out at Cache Bar. To miss the crowds and hasten the process of derigging and shuttling the guests back to Salmon, we took off at a small boat ramp three or so miles before Cache Bar. As we eddied out, waiting our turn, my guide pointed to a small cabin on river left. “Used to be owned by two scow drivers, Don and Clyde Smith,” he said. “But I’d check the validity of that before you publish it. You know how boatmen’s stories are.” I snapped a picture just in case.

My first time down the Middle Fork was the final voyage for this particular sweep boat. With a busted sweep, the boat specially made by Firestone in 1978 was set to retire. If a sweep could talk, I’m sure she’d say her goodbyes, as I said goodbye—for now—to the River of No Return.

This article appears in the O.A.R.S. 2017 Adventures Catalog. For more tips and travel inspiration, request a free copy. Photos courtesy of Ashley Peel and Justin Bailie.

]]>https://www.oars.com/blog/salmon-river-sweep-boat-life/feed/0A Day in the Life of a Sweep Boat Captain on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River | Photo: Ashley PeelA Day in the Life of a Sweep Boat Captain on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River | Photo: Ashley PeelA Day in the Life of a Sweep Boat Captain on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River | Photo: Justin BailieA Day in the Life of a Sweep Boat Captain on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River | Photo: Ashley PeelA Day in the Life of a Sweep Boat Captain on Idaho’s Middle Fork Salmon River | Photo: Justin Bailie10 of Idaho’s Best Whitewater Rapidshttps://www.oars.com/blog/idahos-best-whitewater-rapids/
https://www.oars.com/blog/idahos-best-whitewater-rapids/#commentsMon, 28 Nov 2016 17:22:28 +0000https://www.oars.com/?p=20933We admit it’s a pretty tough job to choose the best whitewater rapids in Idaho. It's the whitewater state after all. But we asked around, and these ten rapids are guide favorites...

]]>We admit it’s pretty tough to pick the best whitewater rapids in Idaho. This is the “whitewater state” we’re talking about after all. But when it comes to narrowing down the choices, river guides definitely have their favorites. We asked around and here are the rapids that guides love to paddle and row and shouldn’t be missed on your next Idaho vacation.

Granite – Snake River through Hells Canyon

Rumors of Hells Canyon, the deepest gorge in North America, is what first brought whitewater enthusiasts to Idaho. While many of the original big drops now lie under the reservoir made by Hells Canyon Dam, Granite Rapid still remains. Named for the iconic rock found across Idaho, Granite is a drop that rivals the rapids of the Grand Canyon. Boaters pray to the river gods (and dam operators) for a sweet spot flow where a feature called the “green room” appears. Created by the power of the Snake River pushing over a school bus-sized boulder, the green room is an ocean-sized wave where at the bottom of the trough your boat is surrounded on all sides by green water. You gotta see it for yourself, preferably in a dory.

Ruby Rapid – Riggins Section of the Salmon River

For most of the season, Ruby Rapid—named for Idaho’s famed star garnets—is a mellow, Class II ride. But at high water, it’s a Class IV monster. During spring runoff, Ruby pushes the entire current of the Salmon River (sometimes as high as 90,000 cubic feet per second) against a sheer granite cliff face. At the entrance, you have to make it through the laterals nicknamed “the pencil sharpener” before working your boat to the right as you crest ocean-sized rollers. Miss this move and you’ll end up in the “pancake wave” that will flip you like the breakfast hotcake that you are. Plus, you’ll have an audience. The nearby Salmon River road makes this a favorite spot to cheer on boats as they take on Ruby, especially during Riggins’ Big Water Blowout event.

Black Creek – Main Salmon River

Black Creek Rapid is the quintessential pool-drop-river rapid. Nestled in the heart of jaw-dropping Black Canyon on the Main Salmon, it’s also one of Idaho’s newest rapids (formed in 2011 by a creek blowout). At high water, Black Creek becomes giant, roller coaster-sized waves. As the water drops, however, the rapid becomes more technical. Most boaters choose the slender left line rather than risk a center run, push away move from three giant, back-to-back hydraulics. Not to say the left line is anything to sneeze at – a combination of lateral waves makes finding the proper entrance point crucial to not sticking your boat on the sharp left hand side rocks.

Slide – Lower Salmon River

Most boaters slip through Slide Rapid without even knowing it is named…at low water. At high water, Slide Rapid becomes a Class V+ rapid that prevents most commercial companies from running this section of the river. Hit river conditions at just the right medium flow, however, and Slide becomes what river legends are made of.

“It prevents trips from launching, flips J rigs, and it leaves a heavy knot in your stomach that feels kind of like too much Taco Bell,” according to Idaho guide Ian Fodor-Davis.

Created by rock fall from a nearby power line, Slide, like many rapids, is created by constriction. Unlike other rapids though, Slide has all 415 miles of Salmon River flow behind it. Two gigantic lateral waves come together into a froth of eddy lines and surging hydraulics. Hold your breath! Or, wait for a lower water Gorges of the Lower Salmon trip and live vicariously through three O.A.R.S. guides who took on Slide Rapid in whitewater kayaks.

Ladle – Selway River

The Selway is known for its wilderness character, exceptional fishing and beautiful cedar-lined views. It’s also known for its meaty, technical rapids like Ladle.

“Ladle is one of those rapids where you get out to scout and you’re like, ‘Whaaaaaa?!’ because it is the mother of all boulder gardens,” explains O.A.R.S. guide Jasmine Wilhelm.

Ladle starts wide as you drop in, but then it funnels to a constriction at the bottom. “The first time I ran it the water was really low and we had small boats so we snuck far left,” Wilhelm recalls. “It was a move of total blind faith because you couldn’t see what you’re about to encounter as you made a 90-degree sweeping right turn around these massive boulders.”

“But it’s beautiful to be in that channel making tight moves as the water just rages through the boulder garden to your right like it’s running through a colander,” she continues. “Ladle had this sense of wildness about it.”

Hells Half Mile – Middle Fork Salmon River

The stunning Middle Fork of the Salmon River, which runs through the heart of the Frank Church Wilderness, is famed for having 100 rapids in 100 miles, and Hells Half Mile is one of the best. It’s not the famous “big drop” you might know from the similarly-named rapid on the Green River in Utah, but it’s equally as challenging, according to O.A.R.S. trip leader and Idaho guide Ashley Brown.

“At high water, Hells Half Mile is a long, continuous S-bend ending in a narrow canyon that hides some boat-eating holes,” describes Brown. “At low water, that long S-bend turns into a boulder garden that will leave you either exulted or exasperated.” In fact, at low flows it becomes so technical that it pushes trip launches down to Indian Creek, letting the guides brave the rocks and shallows with empty boats.

Beyond the excitement though, the narrows at the bottom of the rapid make it one of the most aesthetically pleasing rapids in the West. And as the first major rapid on the Middle Fork, it’s the perfect teaser of what’s to come.

Flight Simulator – East Fork of the South Fork of the Salmon

This complex gauntlet sits at the top of the ultra-classic East Fork of the South Fork run, so paddlers who aren’t feeling it can join the crew below and still have a great day, according to O.A.R.S. Guide Dan Thurber. For better or worse, the crux is the entrance.

“It’s a dizzyingly long rapid with sustained Class IV-V whitewater that stretches around six bends in the river. Or is it 7? I can never remember, especially when I’m in the middle of it,” explains Thurber. “It’s impossible to memorize every feature and move, so it forces paddlers to think more about big ideas: Keep your eyes open, follow seams and waves, hug the inside of corners, remember to breathe. And for God’s sake: don’t swim!”

Terminator – Lochsa River

Super beautiful and easily accessed along scenic Highway 12, the Lochsa River is known for being “explosive, continuous and high adventure.” Running during peak flows in the spring, the Lochsa draws boaters from across the West. While most whitewater love goes to iconic Lochsa Falls a few miles upstream, another not-to-be-missed crowd favorite is Terminator. Giant entrance waves followed by a pancake slapper lateral from the left has had adventure seekers swimming downstream without a paddle more than once. Whether you stay in the boat or not, it’s guaranteed to be a cold but exciting ride.

Blackadar – South Fork of the Payette River

Three high adventure sections of whitewater within twenty minutes of each other make the Payette River a whitewater utopia. And while it’s not the biggest rapid on the South Fork Payette, Blackadar Rapid, right after the portage for Big Falls, makes the best list for being big on fun and scenery.

It’s “about as close to wilderness as you can find on a day stretch in Idaho,” explains Payette River guide Chelsea Galleri. “It feels deep and remote and everyone’s hearts are pounding after having to move boats and people around a giant waterfall!”

Named after Idaho whitewater pioneer and wilderness advocate Walt Blackadar, this relatively forgiving Class IV drop surprises paddlers with a few big hits at the end.

Sunbeam – Upper Salmon River

In 1910, a dam was constructed across the Salmon River to create water pressure for mines along the Yankee Fork tributary. After sportsmen and Idaho Fish and Game realized the dam was reducing Sockeye Salmon, the dam was blasted. What remains—Sunbeam Rapid—is a site to behold (as are its waves).

“It’s a unique rapid because as you enter, your bow is angled upstream” says Stanley-area guide Casey Jones. “You can’t see the hydraulics until you come around the corner. If you think you’re going to drive your boat across the current, you’ll fail. You have to run this rapid tight and upper right.”

And if you blow your line, according to Jones, it’s a huge hit and full-on swim through frothing post-dynamite rebar/concrete waves. Many guides consider it to be one of the most technical and iconic rapids on the Salmon River.

]]>https://www.oars.com/blog/idahos-best-whitewater-rapids/feed/2granite-rapid-hells-canyon_david-hesselblackcreek_coreyrobinsonflight-simulator_nrs-communityblackadar-rapid_travis-heim-on-american-whitewaterWhy it’s Time for the Lower Snake River Dams to Come Downhttps://www.oars.com/blog/time-for-snake-river-dams-to-come-down/
https://www.oars.com/blog/time-for-snake-river-dams-to-come-down/#respondFri, 28 Oct 2016 15:07:33 +0000https://www.oars.com/?p=20539A growing coalition of people from across the U.S. are making it clear that it’s time for the lower four Snake River dams to go. Here's why it matters...

]]>The Pacific Northwest was once home to the greatest salmon runs in the world. Idaho’s Salmon River, named for the iconic fish that used to return to this rugged, high-elevation landscape in droves, was the beating heart of salmon country. Lewis and Clark wrote about the rivers and streams of Idaho being so thick with wild salmon that you could walk across their backs.

So why, in the largest and best-protected wilderness in the lower 48, are salmon and steelhead on the brink of extinction? Why did 97 percent of Idaho’s sockeye perish before making it home to their natal streams? Many factors, but none play as large of a role as dams.

Idaho’s salmon run a gauntlet of eight major hydropower dams, four on the Columbia and four on the lower Snake River. The lower Snake River dams were built towards the end of the dam-building era to turn the town of Lewiston, Idaho, into a sea port. While the Army Corps succeeded in allowing access for barges, these four dams caused a precipitous decline of wild salmon and steelhead in the Snake River Basin, driving some species to extinction within a couple of decades and landing the rest on the Endangered Species List. Not one has come off the list since, despite federal agencies spending more than $15 billion on recovery efforts. In short: They were the dams that broke the salmon’s back.

Former Secretary of the Interior Bruce Babbit often says, “We have built one dam [in the USA] for every day since Jefferson signed the Declaration of Independence… Surely among 75,000 there are a few mistakes.”

A growing coalition of people from across the United States are making it clear that it’s time for the lower four Snake River dams to go. In late September more than 300 people took to the lower Snake River outside of Lewiston for the Free the Snake Flotilla.

“The Flotilla brought together hundreds of river advocates to the Snake River—sport fishermen, tribal members, kayakers, river guides, conservation groups and even farmers—from across the Northwest as well as local towns,” Sam Mace, Inland Northwest Director of Save Our Wild Salmon, said. “Long-time steelhead fishermen who fought to stop the dams in the 60’s and 70’s joined with college students and other new river advocates to make a collective call to decision makers: It’s long past time we free the Snake River.”

Why save salmon in the Snake River Basin? These fish are special. Idaho’s Snake River sockeye travel farther and higher than any sockeye on the planet—climbing 7,000 feet in elevation and more than 1,000 miles inland to their homewaters. They are irreplaceable to more than 140 species, including bears, wolves, eagles, Puget Sound’s orca whales—and human communities. Not to mention throughout their lifecycle salmon support an entire ecosystem, so much so that scientists have found salmon DNA in trees miles from streams.

And barging? Barging at the dams has declined more than 70 percent in recent years. Not to mention, a railroad runs the entire length of the river. In short: these dams cost the region and American taxpayers far more than the benefits they produce.

Scientists are also pointing to the upper Snake River Basin as a refuge for wild salmon and steelhead in the wake of climate change. These fish are survivors and if you give them half of a chance, they will come back.

We’ve seen it on the Rogue, and on the White Salmon and Elwha Rivers. Remove deadbeat dams, and salmon return in force. After the successful removal of two dams on the Elwha River, the largest river restoration in history (so far), and with plans in motion to remove four dams on the Klamath River in 2020, it’s clear we’re in the midst of a sea of change and a growing understanding that some dams no longer make sense and that removing them actually provides huge benefits for fish, local communities and economies.

“Perhaps most exciting is that removing these dams would usher Inland Northwest into a new era,” Mace said. “The last century, we were known for constructing large dams on our rivers. This century, we will celebrate accomplishing the greatest watershed restoration on Earth.”

]]>https://www.oars.com/blog/time-for-snake-river-dams-to-come-down/feed/0Why it’s Time for the Snake River Dams to Come DownWhy it’s Time for the Snake River Dams to Come DownYour Guide to Idaho Raftinghttps://www.oars.com/blog/idaho-rafting-guide/
https://www.oars.com/blog/idaho-rafting-guide/#respondMon, 17 Oct 2016 14:32:39 +0000https://www.oars.com/?p=20428It doesn't get called "the whitewater state" for nothing. If you need some help narrowing down your Idaho rafting choices, this quick rundown should help...

]]>While they might brag about “Famous Potatoes” on their license plates, anyone who has visited Idaho knows the state’s second claim, “The Whitewater State,” is just as accurate. With the craggy mountain peaks of Wyoming, deep river canyons of Arizona, blue-ribbon trout fishing of Montana and the verdant forests of Oregon, Idaho is one of the union’s best-kept outdoor secrets. Your problem won’t be where to book your Idaho rafting trip, but which river to pick. Emerald LaFortune, a river guide and Idaho native, helps you narrow down the choices.

Salmon River

One of the longest un-dammed rivers in the lower 48, the Salmon River is a big part of why Idaho is known as the whitewater state. From exciting Class IV day trips beneath the Sawtooth Mountains near Stanley to relaxing multi-day family trips through the epic Frank Church “River of No Return” Wilderness, almost all of the Salmon’s 425 miles are boatable. And since it’s free-flowing, the river can fluctuate from 90,000 cubic feet per second (CFS) to 3500 CFS all in a given season. Adrenaline addicts should plan their trips for late May and early June, whereas families and fishermen will have better luck (and warmer water!) in July, August and September.

Speaking of anglers, if fishing is a priority for you, a day trip on the upper Salmon or a multi-day Middle Fork of the Salmon rafting trip shouldn’t be missed. Or, bring the whole family along on a Lower Salmon river trip and discover Idaho’s secret stash of small mouth bass.

Fun River Fact: The Salmon River is named in honor of the Chinook and Sockeye fish that make the over 700-mile journey down the Snake and Columbia Rivers to the Pacific Ocean before swimming back to complete their epic migration.

Selway River

The solitude of the Selway River is unmatched by any multi-day whitewater river in the Lower 48. The Forest Service permits only one launch per day (alternating commercial trips and privately run trips) as the river cuts through the heart of the Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness. Expect crystal clear water, rising cutthroat, sandy beaches and amazing cedar-lined hiking trails. Similar to the Salmon, the Selway is un-dammed meaning spring flows (when snow melts out of the mountains) will be high, cold and rowdy.

Fun River Fact: When the Wild and Scenic Rivers Act was passed in 1968, the Selway River was one of the first six rivers designated under the program. Combined with the neighboring Frank Church “River of No Return” Wilderness, the Selway-Bitterroot is the largest Wilderness complex in the Lower 48.

Payette River

If the Salmon and the Selway are Idaho’s wilderness gems, the Payette is Idaho’s best whitewater playground. Located only an hour from Boise and boasting three daily stretches ranging from splashy and scenic to high adventure waterfalls, the Payette is a perfect addition to an Idaho road trip. The Cabarton run on the North Fork is a great introduction to Idaho rafting while the more advanced Staircase and Canyon runs will have you tuned into that “all forward!” instruction from your guide. With emerald green water and beautiful canyon scenery, the Payette shouldn’t be missed and is a great bookend to a multi-day Idaho trip.

Fun River Fact: The Class V portion of the North Fork of the Payette is known as one of the most challenging river sections in North America. Only expert boaters attempt this wild and raucous stretch. Want to see world class paddlers in action? The North Fork Championship brings together the best kayakers in the world for a weekend of competitions that are easy and fun to watch.

Lochsa River

If the Payette and the Selway were blended, they’d look a lot like the Lochsa River. Boatable only in the spring during high water, the Lochsa boasts some of Idaho’s best rapids, all along scenic and historic Highway 12. Rapid names like “Grim Reaper” and “Terminator” say it all. This is a trip for the adrenaline addicted! If boat-flipping waterfalls aren’t quite your cup of river tea, act as trip photographer or explore nearby hiking trails and natural hot springs.

Fun River Fact: Lewis and Clark traveled through the Lochsa River canyon in mid-September of 1805. Travel over the Lolo Trail was rugged and early snowfall left the expedition near-starved by the time they reached the Weippe Prairie to the West.

Snake River through Hells Canyon

Been craving the big water, epic canyon feel of the Grand Canyon? There’s no need to travel to Arizona. The deepest gorge in North America, Hells Canyon has rugged scenery, prolific bass fishing and some of the best whitewater in the state. Utilized by the Nez Perce and the Shoshone-Bannock for thousands of years, the Hells Canyon stretch of the Snake River also has one of the richest human histories of any of Idaho’s river canyons. From its original occupants to gold miners and homesteaders, and later, the pioneers of whitewater rafting in Idaho, you’re sure to hear a ghost whisper or two on a Hells Canyon rafting adventure.

Being dammed, the river has more consistent flows than its wild counterparts to the east. But it isn’t named “Hells,” for nothing. For folks who love desert temperatures and lots of swimming, July and August are prime. For those who prefer their climate more moderate, the verdant green and wildflowers of June aren’t to be missed and sipping wine watching a September sunset on Hominy Bar is as close to “heaven” as you can get.

Fun River Fact: Hells Canyon was the first whitewater run explored for recreation in Idaho. Georgie White of Grand Canyon fame brought her pontoon rigs up to the Snake’s exciting whitewater and O.A.R.S. Dories Idaho got its start on Hells Canyon under the name “Northwest Dories.”

Any other Idaho favorites? Tell us about it in the comments below. And don’t forget to check out our almost Idaho favorites, the Owyhee River (Oregon) and the Alberton Gorge of the Clark Fork (Montana).

In Portland, it’s easy to stay “in the bubble,” exploring all that our backyard has to offer, but just a six hour drive east is Lewiston, Idaho—the gateway to Idaho’s world-renowned rivers, including the high desert Gorges of the Lower Salmon. And the best part? You can take the scenic route.

Abandon I-84 for the lesser traveled and more scenic Highway 14 to wind your way through the Columbia River Gorge on the Washington side. With a relatively short road trip ahead of you, enjoy the ride. Here are a few things you should check out along the way.

Beacon Rock. Less than an hour from Portland, stop to stretch your legs and get your blood pumping with a hike up Beacon Rock. This nearly 900-foot, basalt column once formed the core of an ancient volcano, so why not climb to the top? Short and steep, as you weave your way in and out of forest and rocky outcrops, you’ll enjoy views up- and down-river of the mighty Columbia. Foggy? No worries! It’s still an impressive climb and the mist adds to the magic of this short hike.

As you explore this special spot in Skamania County, remember that the Board of County Commissioners added a “Bigfoot ordinance” to the books that makes it against the law to harm this fabled furry creature. Is Bigfoot real? Keep your eyes peeled and decide for yourself.

White Salmon. Stop for lunch in the picturesque town of White Salmon. Don’t miss the delicious locally-sourced fare at Everybody’s Brewing, and the incredible view from their patio that looks out over the Columbia River. Don’t worry, they have plenty of bubbly non-alcoholic brews to quench your thirst, including a rotating tap of kombucha.

After lunch pop across the street to the North Shore Cafe to grab a cup of coffee or fresh-squeezed juice for the road. Once back in the car, you’ll keep heading east on Highway 14 to the junction of Highway 12 toward Walla Walla and Lewiston.

Walla Walla. In the final stretch to Lewiston, don’t miss the chance to imbibe in Washington’s wine capital of Walla Walla. With more than 100 wineries to choose from, it’s easy to get overwhelmed with the options, so we’ve included a few recommendations.

Waterboork Winery is one of Walla Walla’s pioneering wineries. Venture to their scenic grounds and impressive tasting room to sip on wines that exemplify the fruit-forward characteristics of this region. Amavi Cellars boasts an incredible view of their vineyards and guests can sit back on their patio to take in acres of vines and the rolling, pastural hills of the Palouse. L’Ecole No. 41, a second-generation, family-owned institution is one of the most distinguished Walla Walla wineries. Located in a historic schoolhouse, this winery has been recognized on Wine and Spirit’s list of Top 100 Wineries for 14 consecutive years. Pick one, enjoy a taste of world-class wines and revel in the fact that your “adventure” hasn’t even started yet.

Gorges of the Lower Salmon River Rafting. Hop back in your car for the short drive to Lewiston and a good night’s sleep before embarking on a Lower Salmon River rafting trip the following morning. This underrated Idaho adventure will take you through four separate canyons, each showing off the distinct beauty of this wild river corridor. Added to the experience are some of Idaho’s best whitewater rapids, mellow pools for swimming and stand-up paddleboarding, plus camping on incredible sandy beaches.

For the next few days, surrender to river time. It’s a place where time slows down and all that matters is the splash of whitewater, big skies dotted with stars and connecting with good friends around a fire.

When it’s all said and done, you’ll wonder why more people aren’t talking about this awesome road trip from Portland.

]]>https://www.oars.com/blog/best-portland-road-trip-lower-salmon-river-rafting/feed/0Everybody’s Brewing, White Salmon, WA | Photo: Bob’s Beer BlogPortland Road Trip: Gorges of the Lower Salmon River RaftingDories: Do They Live Up to the Hype?https://www.oars.com/blog/oars-dories-experience/
https://www.oars.com/blog/oars-dories-experience/#commentsFri, 07 Oct 2016 14:57:12 +0000https://www.oars.com/?p=20281A wooden boat may not seem like the best option for whitewater, but according to writer and adventurer, Hilary Oliver, dories take river trips to the next level...

]]>As we drifted around the bend, grey cliffs in front of us parted before our boat like gates to an elven land. The velvety green hills reaching high above the pewter-colored cliffs would wow just about anyone, but they had a tough time competing for my attention with something else on the Main Salmon River: the other dories bobbing and gliding down the river behind us.

Dories turn heads. They’re graceful, both moving through the water and tied up at camp. And they’re less common on the rivers of the West these days than their big rubber cousins. But do they really live up to the hype? On a six-day dory trip down the Salmon this summer, I gave that some thought—and came out an unabashed dory fan. Here are three reasons dories take a river trip to the next level.

They give a super intimate sense of the river.

About to drop into Ludwig Rapid, guide Barry Dow stood up with the oars in his hands, eyeing his line. He waved one of us to scoot two inches to one side to balance our weight, and reminding us to be ready to “high side,” or jump to one side of the boat to help right it if it got tipped by a wave. The bow dipped over the glassy green edge of the rapid, the rest gliding behind, and we rode through the splashing whitewater below as smoothly as if it were a well greased roller coaster.

Dories are a lot less forgiving of rocks and crashes than rubber rafts are. A hit can put a hole in the hull, to be patched on the fly. Mistakes are costly. So to navigate one of these beautiful boats through serious water requires a deep understanding of what the water’s doing, and what it will do to the boat. Even riding along in one gives a more intimate sense of the river than most other boats allow.

They carry with them a sense of craftsmanship lost to most of the modern world.

Amber Shannon’s strokes with the oars were small, sensitive to the water’s own movements instead of muscling against them. I’d asked her about the boat she was rowing, the Quartz Creek, and she pointed out the funny quirks, like a slightly crooked latch, that make it unique. She explained that over the years, these historic boats—some of them as old as 40 years—have been mended by the different boatmen who’ve rowed them, slept on them, lived on them. In a culture where so many of the objects we surround ourselves with are mass-produced and throwaway, riding on a boat with its own history and character feels like a special treat. It whispers of past adventures, of feats of bravery and maybe even some stupidity. It carries with it a sense of craftsmanship and story that we rarely see in this day and age.

They’re a reminder of places lost—and of places that still need to be protected.

On each of the O.A.R.S. dories, a hand-painted image decorates the bow. From the Glen Canyon to the Quartz Creek, they’re reminders of places in nature that have been changed or destroyed by human hands without need. They exist as memorials to those places, so they aren’t forgotten; but perhaps more importantly, they serve as a reminder that no place is sacred and forever protected. The paint strokes on each boat are reminders to us that none of our beloved natural sanctuaries are truly guaranteed to be preserved eternally. Lest we grow complacent, they implore us to take a stand against development of the wild places that remind us of our smallness as humans.

The story of river dories is deeply entwined with the history of conservation—with activist Martin Litton taking journalists out on rivers, hoping they would take a stand against developments like dams in the Grand Canyon. The eternal refrain is: the more people who get to experience these special places, the more people will be likely to stand up for their preservation. Any trip down a river is special, but floating on these sculptural boats, adorned with paintings of those lost gems, can be a heady experience. It’s a constant reminder of places that we’ve lost, and how fleeting our own river experiences could be, if we don’t pay attention and stand up to defend the places we love.

]]>https://www.oars.com/blog/oars-dories-experience/feed/2Dory Trips: Do They Live Up to the Hype?Dory Trips: Do They Live Up to the Hype?Dory Trips: Do They Live Up to the Hype?Meet Salmon River Sweep Boat Driver, Ned Perryhttps://www.oars.com/blog/salmon-river-sweep-boat-driver-ned-perry/
https://www.oars.com/blog/salmon-river-sweep-boat-driver-ned-perry/#respondThu, 21 Jul 2016 07:02:11 +0000https://www.oars.com/?p=19708Ned Perry is one of approximately 35 people in the world who calls sweep boat driving his job. Find out more about this unique Salmon River tradition...

He’s got one of the most unique jobs in the world…

Ned Perry didn’t necessarily set out to be a sweep boat driver on Idaho’s Middle Fork of the Salmon, but when a mid-trip injury made it too challenging for a colleague and veteran sweep captain to drive the boat, being in the right place at the right time got him hooked. Now, Ned—who’s been guiding for O.A.R.S. since 2006 and the company’s primary sweep boat driver since 2010—is one of approximately 35 people in the world who calls this unique Idaho tradition his job. We talked to him to find out more about sweep boats, the history behind them and what it’s like to navigate these massive 4,000-pound boats downstream.

What exactly is a sweep boat and why are they used on commercial rafting trips?

They take all of the gear so you don’t have to deal with baggage boats. It’s an absolutely enormous raft. The one we have was built in 1978 by Firestone Tire Company.* The boat sitting on the ground is about 4- to 5-feet tall and instead of oars, there are sweep arms off the front and the back.

What’s the history behind these boats?

They were used quite a bit on the Salmon for running lumber down to places that didn’t have access to lumber. They would build it out of lumber, fill it with lumber and run them down to Riggins or Lewiston. Then, that’s how a lot of the mining on the Main Salmon got started. People would build a sweep boat, run it down to where they wanted to start their mine and then disassemble it and build a cabin and have a go at mining. It would be a one-way trip. That’s where the “River of No Return” Wilderness got its name.

These days they’re only used on the Middle Fork of the Salmon, right?

The only place they’ve had success being run commercially is on the Middle Fork. In its 100 miles, there’s continuous current the entire time. That’s what allows them to maintain what’s called sweepage. When they’re moving, they gain mobility. The faster you’re moving, the more mobile you are.

Tell us what an average day on the river is like for a sweep boat driver.

The sweeps take off in the morning and you go by yourself all day. You usually shove off around 8 to 8:30 a.m. because if you get in the winds, they become really hard to handle.

When I shove off in the morning, I’ll head straight down to camp and try to get there as early as I possibly can. They’re a challenge to stop, especially if the water’s high so I just go, go, go. You have to have the river basically memorized and you can never set the sweeps down and chill out for a minute because the boat has to be constantly driven and pointed in the right direction. It’s very intensive while you’re driving it.

I try to get to camp by 1 p.m. Then I’ll unload the boat and get all the stuff I’ve brought with me set up so that when the passengers show up their bags are piled up, the chair circle is made, the kitchen’s half set up…everything at the camp looks like it’s set up.

What does it take to captain a sweep boat?

There’s the misconception that you need to be this really big, burly, strong guy because it’s a huge, heavy boat. When it helps to be big and burly is when you screw up. When you get stuck, it’s horrible, and it’s really hard to get unstuck. You got a 4,000 pound boat stuck on a rock and you’re by yourself so it involves some clever pushing, a mechanical advantage, whatever you can do. It can be a total nightmare. Some of the most exhausting days of my life have been brutal sticks on the sweep boat. But it’s not a strength game, it’s a finesse game.

Have you had any mishaps you’ll never forget?

There’s been a bunch, but the most challenging day I have ever had on the sweep boat was at a rapid called Hell’s Half Mile. I got stuck on the entrance…drove the nose right up on this rock in the middle of the river. I spun and my stern caught on another rock. So I was sideways and the whole front of the sweep was a foot out of the water up on this rock. It took me about an hour and 45 minutes…pushing on the boat, pulling the boat. It wasn’t moving at all. I was finally able to winch the sweep boat off the rock with a come-along. At that point, it turned into this really windy day. I still had 10 miles of challenging low water and proceeded to get stuck in a number of other places. It was absolutely brutal. That day I pulled in at about 4 p.m. I was just about in tears and remember laying down and hugging the ground I was so happy to be at camp.

Then it turned out the rest of the trip had a pretty epic day. They didn’t show up until 6 p.m. because another sweep who had left a little while after me had gotten stuck on the exact same rock in Hell’s Half Mile. That company had the whole river dammed up. It was just a wild day on the river.

When you push off from shore each morning, what’s going through your head?

That’s one of the best moments. The Middle Fork runs right from the center of the Frank Church River of No Return Wilderness, which is the largest wilderness in the lower 48 states. To be out there running a wild river in the middle of the wilderness, by yourself, and knowing what excitement you have ahead of you for the day, I love that.

So you enjoy being out there all alone?

There are times where you can get a little into your own head, but for the most part, it’s amazing. You get a lot of good time to reflect. A lot of times, you just stare up at the canyon walls. I’m a people person but I think it’s been really healthy for me. This job has taught me to enjoy my alone time.

*O.A.R.S. retired its original 1978 sweep boat built by Firestone Tire Company after a successful June 24, 2016 Middle Fork Salmon trip.

]]>https://www.oars.com/blog/salmon-river-sweep-boat-driver-ned-perry/feed/0Meet Salmon River Sweep Boat Driver, Ned PerrySweep Boat on the Middle Fork of the Salmon RiverThe Life of a Sweep Boat Driver5 Morning Habits of Successful River Guideshttps://www.oars.com/blog/5-morning-habits-successful-river-guides/
https://www.oars.com/blog/5-morning-habits-successful-river-guides/#respondFri, 15 Jul 2016 14:27:07 +0000https://www.oars.com/?p=19648Mornings are a hectic time for river guides. But the best of them quickly learn what makes a guide die or thrive in the early mornings.

One of my favorite parts of being a guide? Sleeping on the deck of my boat with the river beneath me and the Idaho stars above. My least favorite aspect of being a guide? Dragging myself out of my warm sleeping bag cocoon six hours later to start coffee and water on the stoves. Between breakfast, packing camp, loading boats and planning the day, mornings are a hectic time for river guides. But after a few seasons, you learn what makes a guide die or thrive in the early mornings.

Prepare the Night Before

My nightly routine on the river is, surprisingly, more involved than at home. I brush and braid my hair, dig out clothes for the next day, find my coffee mug and organize my river bags. Although it’s tempting to just crash, I know I’ll wear the braid for the next day (or three) and it’ll be too cold to want to change my clothes in the morning.

Don’t Wake Up Early

Okay, I do wake up early, but not any earlier than I absolutely have to. With a ten-step sand bar commute from bed to work, it’s easy to wake up at 5:44 a.m. to fire up breakfast at 5:45 a.m. As a guide, every minute of sleep is precious. After the water starts to boil I have time for my toiletries and morning routine. The best part of being up before all the guests and crew? No line for the groover!

Clean Teeth, Clean Lines

Call it a superstition created to promote proper oral hygiene among guides, but it’s worked so far. I keep my toothbrush accessible so I can brush, coil my boat’s rope and explain the day’s upcoming rapids all at once.

Spend Time with Family

“Sarah, good morning, let me give you a hug! How did you sleep? Any dreams?”

“What do you need, Em?”

As a guide, it’s easy to forget the niceties of the morning, especially when you’ve gotten through more coffee than your co-worker. To avoid having the ashes from a cold fire pan dumped on you rather than in the trash, checking in with the crew in the morning helps everyone wake up in a better mood.

Say “Thank You” to the River

Despite the best preparations, mornings never go as smoothly as planned. Inevitably, a stove burner will stop working, I’ll rig an entire boat before realizing a key part of equipment is buried at the bottom, or little Timmy won’t be able to find his personal flotation device. But since the entire tone of a day can be set in the first few hours, I always try to take a brief moment to appreciate my outdoor office and the people I work with.

Steve Jobs was quoted questioning, “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?”

Lucky for me, when guiding, the answer is almost always yes…even first thing in the morning.

]]>My river sandals grip into a slanting block of smooth granite. I peek into the gut of Black Creek Rapid. My own gut turns. In this steep canyon, the Salmon River (in true Idaho rapid fashion), pours off the lip of a quiet, flat pool into ten seconds of utter whitewater chaos. A quarter mile later, the river is smooth again, the drop a faint memory painted in bubble lines. Today, in the center of Black Creek, a single oar is stuck vertically, thrumming with the water pressure.

“How did that even GET there?” I question the guide standing next to me.

She shrugs.

A decade ago, boaters passed the narrow Black Creek side canyon with barely a glance. Salmon Falls, a half mile upstream, was a far bigger challenge—an iconic drop that tortured historic river runners from wooden scows to jet boats to rafters. As a kid I stood on the opposite shore, sandals gripped into granite, nervously scouting my line through the narrow shoot of the falls.

Rivers are dynamic, however, changing overnight in response to rain, runoff, slides and the general gravity of geology and weather. On the Salmon River, many of our rapids are named after creeks because the drops are formed by debris pushed into the river from steep tributaries. In the spring of 2011, a warm weather front hit the snow covered Salmon Mountains resulting in a rain event and massive debris flow down Black Creek into the main stem of the Salmon River. That season’s spring high water pulse pushed the dangerous log jam and much of the debris downstream but the rapid continues to evolve even a half-decade later.

The large guard rocks of Salmon Falls are now riffles under the surface of the slack water the earthen dam created. As our boats slide over the submerged boulders of the old rapid we begin to hear the roar of the new one. In each year since Black Creek Rapid formed, the boulders and rocks of the rapid have shifted. The Salmon, being an undammed river, often swells to 7-10 times its normal size as snow melts out of the mountains of the Frank Church Wilderness. This surge of water realigns the river bed and the obstacles throughout the rapid. As guides, we scout Black Creek every trip, never sure how the hydraulics have changed.

At most water levels there are two options for running Black Creek. On most days, both look awful. Let’s consider our options:

A center line involves a tricky set up to rival Black Creek’s predecessor, Salmon Falls. The consequences of missing the entrance move are a set of churning, boat-flipping hydraulics on one side and a sharp rock island on the other. More than one 18-foot raft has been stood on its side in the hydraulics and the boulder-choked island has munched a dory or two.

How about the other run? The river left line is a solid wash of whitewater from the lip of the pool to the tail waves below. The current line pushes into a set of sharp lateral waves, then is lost in a surging eddy bouncing off the bank. Following the path of the water, it appears your boat will be wrecked sideways into a rooster tailing wave/rock.

“Trust that left line,” the guide scouting with me says. “It goes today.”

I tease her about portaging instead but she’s right. My heart pounding (yup, even your guide gets nervous sometimes—it signals a healthy respect for the water), I slowly row my boat up to the precipice of the left side of the river. I place an oar stroke into the face of the first wave, correct my alignment into the second and a few moments later we’re hitting the big, surging tail waves. The current has perfectly cradled our boat through the s-turn of current. I eddy out and watch the rest of our crew row and paddle through, sunlight refracting off the river as waves explode around the bow of each boat. Black Creek is my favorite type of rapid to guide—a little scary, a loud roar, easier than it first appears and big, roller coaster waves throughout.

Guides love the Salmon River because, due to it’s free-flowing nature, each week the rapids are run a little differently. Because the river has a natural seasonal fluctuation, it’s rare to ever hit a rapid at the exact same flow. Rapids like Black Creek also remind us that the canyon itself is a wild, changing landscape. All it takes is a heavy rainstorm, a forest fire or a fallen snag to completely change the way we approach a stretch of water. As guides, Black Creek keeps us on the toes of our river sandals…right where we like to be.

For nearly 50 years, a few devoted river guides have carried on the legacy of running dories on the rivers of the West—a tradition fostered in by Martin Litton when he founded Grand Canyon Dories in 1969. Now, a new generation of dory guides is passionate about learning the ropes and carrying on Litton’s legacy. We talked to O.A.R.S. guides Trevor Case, Amber Shannon and Godwin Peck to find out more about what it means to be among the next generation of dory guides.

What’s special about dories?

Trevor: There’s no better way to feel the river than with a dory.

Amber: Dories are magical. They have years of love and repair and boatmen’s angst in them.

Godwin: They are one of the most beautiful craft on the river. Dories are emblematic. Most of the boats are named after rivers or waterways that have been negatively affected by humans, and to me, this is a constant reminder of the conservation work that needs to be done to protect wild rivers and waterways.

How do dory trips contribute to the long term preservation of places like the Salmon River and the Grand Canyon?

Trevor: One of the best ways to get people to fall in love with nature is to show it to them. Nowadays, people are so busy and absorbed in technology that they have no time to experience how truly amazing it is.

Amber: The more people we can get to realize how important these places are, the more likely they are to fight for them when the time comes.

Godwin:Dory trips make wilderness areas accessible in one of the most beautiful, unobtrusive ways possible. It is hard to come away from a dory trip and not feel a sense of awe and appreciation for a river. The more people that feel this sense of wonder, the more they will be willing to fight for the preservation of wild areas.

As the next generation of dory guides, why do you think this is more important than ever?

Trevor: We have a duty and a responsibility to protect these places. I want my kids and grandkids to experience their beauty. And I want people who would otherwise never see these places to experience their beauty.

Amber: Our world is changing as we speak. Global warming and an eminent world water crisis, mining interests and the need for more development are all going to affect our rivers in this lifetime. If we don’t have people to fight, we are going to lose the lifeblood of our planet.

Godwin: Even though people might recognize that wilderness is important, and that we should protect wild areas, it is hard to care for places that you have never seen in person. There is no substitute for being fully immersed. When people visit places like the Grand Canyon and the Frank Church Wilderness they realize that there is no way to replicate or replace that kind of beauty.